She Left

She was smoking-hot when she walked in, dressed up for the first time in months.  Her legs teased with a brief show of skin between her khaki skirt and brown knee-high boots.  A white single-breasted pea coat opened up to reveal curvy hips and a slender waistline.  Her ample breasts were obvious, but a high-necked sweater dashed any hopes of cleavage.  Pouty lips and dark eyes tempted and begged at the same time.  Light brown hair parted at the side framed the beautiful face and draped easily over her shoulders. 

Lunging through the door, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.  “I got my period, Baby.” 

Staggered, relieved, befuddled, he backed away, but not too far to keep his hands clasped behind her head.  He gauged her eyes for temperament.  She was clearly emotional, but okay for now.  He kissed her on the lips, then the forehead, and then her neck right below the left ear.  “I’m happy for you,” he whispered.  “I’m happy for me” is what he meant.  They squeezed each other and she started to cry. 

He didn’t rush her.  He rubbed her back and kissed her hair.  He expected her to reward his patience and support.  He had said and done all the right things.  He stood beside her the whole time.  He kept her secret.  He held her through the tears and talked her to sleep at night.  He lied about wanting to have a kid eventually, anyway, and about planning to be with her forever.  He concocted plans for the future to give her hope about raising a child and supporting a family.  He would go back to college and work nights because he loved her.

Inside he seethed, cursing her, himself, and everyone who had sex without children.  He prayed to a God he had never believed in.  Alcohol put him to sleep at night and tobacco guided him through the day.  He hadn’t called his parents and met up with any of his friends.  The gym was a vague memory. 

But now she was back and he would be rewarded.  They would get drunk and stay up all night and chase the fantasies they used to fulfill; and maybe he would pursue one or two he had only carried out in his mind.  Looking down he raised her chin with his fingers and spewed bawdy thoughts through twinkling eyes and a haughty smirk.  His hand moved behind her neck and he kissed her lips, waiting for them to part.  He paused and kissed her again.  Now hands on her hips, he tilted his head the other way and tried once more.  She embraced him in a hug that said, “Thank you” rather than, “I love you.” She stood up straight, backed up a step and said a bit too familiarly, “I’m leaving.  Good bye.” 

He froze with his shoulders slumped and an expression wavering between rage, guilt, and disingenuous concern.  Was she serious?  Where was she going?  He thought about chasing her, but convinced himself that the elevator doors would close before he could catch her.  Answers evaded him, maybe because he couldn’t formulate the right questions to ask.  He waited, and then called her phone three times.  Voicemail three times.  The last call didn’t even ring.  No messages.  He sat down on the couch next to a bottle with three fingers of vodka in it.  The TV stayed off.  He passed out before he could finish the bottle or screw the cap back on.